


Not like I love you

by TeaHouseMoon



Series: The Vanilla Kinks series [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward John, Basically a PWP, Dirty Talk, Horny John, John Talks Dirty, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, PWP without Porn, Phone Sex, Rimming, Sex, Sherlock Talks Dirty, Shy Sherlock, Wedding Planning, so much love, with a tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, if we wanted to… Er. Do. What you – what you said. What would be – how would we, do it?”</p><p>John looks over at Sherlock, as he's sitting at the living room table, fingers fiddling with the fork from his Mrs Hudson-cooked breakfast. He isn't looking at him and his face is flushed, his cheeks almost visibly red. </p><p>John smiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not like I love you

“So, if we wanted to… Er. Do. What you – what you said. What would be – how would we, do it?”

John looks over at Sherlock, as he's sitting at the living room table, fingers fiddling with the fork from his Mrs Hudson-cooked breakfast. He isn't looking at him and his face is flushed, his cheeks almost visibly red.

John smiles.

“Well.” He wants to ask Sherlock if they have to talk sexual positions now, right now out of the blue and when they're really not in the mindset – and what's more, John is about to leave for Birmingham - but forces himself not to. It's good that Sherlock wants to talk about it, it's not easy to get him to, usually, and he's not going to say or do something that might cause him to withdraw.

He clears his throat.

“Well, there's a couple…there's two ways to do it that are, easiest, really…”

“I want to be able to see you.”

Sherlock's voice is so stern all of a sudden, and his blue eyes are dark, pupils fixed on John as he says that. John blinks, but works to keep his expression relaxed and open.

“Okay. That's okay. In that case – you – you on your back, with – we’ll put something under your hips so you're more comfortable, and… Your legs on my shoulders, that would – that would be good”.

John closes his eyes for a moment - it's okay, Sherlock isn't looking right now – and clears his throat. He realises he's been stuttering, and his face burns. He's never thought himself as someone who's embarrassed by sex, but the truth is that he practically almost never talks about it outside of the bedroom – it's too intimate, too private – and he has always had a problem talking about feelings and recognising and articulating his own. His speech to Mycroft about his intention to marry Sherlock must have used up the last ounce of un-self-consciousness he may have had.

And talking about oral sex in the middle of the living room while Sherlock is eating eggs and he's buttoning the cuffs of his work shirt feels particularly awkward.

“That would look ridiculous.”

John's head snaps up at Sherlock's scoffing tone.

“No, it wouldn't?”, he says with a frown. He walks the two steps that separate him from Sherlock and reaches out a hand to stroke a curl away from his forehead.

“You'd look – beautiful. As you always do”.

He's certainly become better at complimenting Sherlock – not just for his intellectual abilities, he's always been proficient in that, but for his physical appearance, too - yet Sherlock sniggers, and looks away.

“Please.”

“No, I'm serious.”

He doesn't get an answer. Sherlock is still looking the opposite direction, towards the wall he's maimed with bullet holes – and so John clears his throat.

“Okay, well. I've got to go”, and at Sherlock turning and shooting him a stern questioning look: “I have to be in Birmingham by 10. Be back tomorrow morning”.

Sherlock looks away again, and waves his hand dismissively at that – _yeah, sure, none of my business, I'll see you when you're back_ ; but John takes another half-step closer, and his hand reaches for Sherlock’s hand that's resting on the table, four fingers wrapping under the palm, and the thumb strokes the ring on Sherlock’s finger gently. He clears his throat again; his expression clearly says _we’re engaged now; that's not how you say goodbye to your fiancé, Sherlock._

Sherlock looks up, frowns for only a moment; but then his lips curve up a little and his face gentles, and he tips his chin up to offer his mouth for a kiss which John readily gives, soft at first, then hungrier as he remembers he's not going to see him for a whole full day - until he breathes on Sherlock's chin and draws up, making himself leave the flat.

 

 

***

 

 

It's late in the evening and he's in a cab back to the hotel, when a text arrives.

 

_What would you do, when I'm lying on my back, with my legs open, just like you said? – SH_

John's face burns instantly – he wishes it was embarrassment, but if he's learned something about himself recently is that when it comes to Sherlock and sex, his body reacts with arousal, no matter what. He harrumphs, self conscious, even though he knows the cab driver can't possibly know what's going on.

He's thinking whether to reply – and how - when his phone buzzes with a call.

“Sherlock-“

“I realised we didn’t finish the conversation this morning.”

John cuts another glance at the driver, who's still as blissfully ignorant of what's going on – or not going on, _yet_ – as a few moments previous.

“I thought – you wanted to talk about the Town Hall for the wedding”.

“That was last night!”, Sherlock says impatiently on the other end of the phone. “Plus, what's there to discuss? We just need a place to go to sign a document that says that you can never leave me, ever. Once we’ve done that, the rest is unimportant”.

John blinks. “Sherlock…?”

“ _After I take my clothes off for you_ ”, Sherlock continues; his voice has dropped one register. “What would you want me to do?”

“Sherlock”, John almost whispers through his teeth. “I'm in a cab”.

“I know.” Sherlock's voice is still low. “I would have video called so I could take my clothes off for you right now” – warm, purring – “but I don't think you would want someone else seeing me”.

John swallows. Growls. “No. I don't”.

“Hmmm”.

Sherlock's only humming, and John can feel the intention behind the sound. He widens his thighs on the car seat - guiltily - clenches and unclenches the hand that's not holding the phone. He's half-hard already, quickly on his way to fully-hard; he's fallen for it again. Goddamnit.

At least he's not far from the hotel now.

“Would you kiss me?” Sherlock's purring voice is back in his ear. “ You know how much I like it when you kiss me. You're so good at it. You kiss me the same way you fuck me. Your whole mouth against me – deep. I love it…”

John coughs this time, because a simple harrumph is just not enough to hide how tense and wired he feels. He's frowning, jaw set – and takes an anxious breath when he recognises the turn before his destination.

“I'll be in the room in five minutes. Just getting out of the cab now”, he informs Sherlock, surprising himself because he's encouraging this. Of course he is – he wants it, now that Sherlock's started it. He wants it very much.

“Good”, Sherlock murmurs approvingly in his ear, as John pays the cab without saying a word, gets out, crosses the pavement to the hotel entrance and then to the elevator, not even a glance for the receptionist but thankfully that's the kind of establishment where staff don't check who comes in.

He's breathing quite deeply by the time he gets into his room, trying to calm himself against the mental images that a few suggestive words from Sherlock have managed to conjure up – and of course Sherlock has noticed.

“You're hard now. Aren't you.”

“Of course I bloody am, Sherlock”, John scolds, almost snarls, irritated at him for stating the obvious. _You've caused this._

He hears Sherlock moan very softly on the other side.

“I'm imagining it, John. You. You're _so big_ ”, his voice is deep, and crackling as he speaks.

John closes his eyes, clutches his phone harder to his face, while his other hand goes to wrap around his knee, to keep himself from going after something else already that he wants to touch way more.

“But you take me so well”, he manages to growl back. He's throbbing inside his trousers, already finding it difficult to keep up with the rhythm of deep breaths he's imposed on himself since this started. _Ridiculous._

His dirty talk is nothing groundbreaking, pretty unimaginative in fact, it's all he can muster at the moment – but Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind. He moans again against his phone, sound going to caress John's ear, seductive and mellifluous like silk would be against his skin.

"I wish you were here", he murmurs, in a breath. He's needy, and John closes his eyes, grunts very low in his throat to try and ground himself at the thought of Sherlock _needing him_ , at the hot coal of pleasure this conjures up deep in his gut.

"You want me", he says, inanely because _of course he does_. He opens his eyes, blinks, bites on the inside of his lip as he decides on what to do: ask for more delicious sounds, more descriptions and breaths on the other side, make sure Sherlock is nice and tense and _wet for him_ ; or open his own trousers, wrap his hand around his hard cock and just think of fucking Sherlock - hard and fast like when he just needs to get off, and be done with it.

"Yes, John. I want you", Sherlock inhales on the other side. His breathing is already erratic. "Please, come back".

John exhales hard, grits his teeth - no sweet talk, _not now_.

"Shhh. Just tell me what you're doing", he gently steers them back where he wants to go.

"I've undressed for you. I'm reclining back on our bed, completely naked".

John closes his eyes.

"I wish I could see you. Go on".

"I'm touching myself", Sherlock murmurs, his sinful voice making the words even more crude. "Touching my cock".

John has to take another deep breath; then he gives in, lies back on his hotel bed and unzips himself, gives himself an initial, perfunctory pull over his underwear.

"I'm touching myself, too", he goads. "Mmm. You've made me so hard".

Sherlock moans. John imagines him on the bed, beautiful, unmarked pale skin, long graceful legs bent and feet planted on the mattress, hips jerking up. "I miss you".

"Imagine it's me there, right there with you", John corrects once again, in a growl - he will tell Sherlock that he misses him too, later, but for now he just needs breaths, and moans, and _yes, god yes, please_.

"Imagine I'm right there, and I'm kissing you, kissing you everywhere, and you're letting me" - he gives a little jerks of his hips himself, _fuck_. "You're letting me. Won't you, Sherlock?"

"Aah", is all he hears from the other end; he growls.

"Tell me you'll let me, Sherlock."

"Ah, John", Sherlock is clearly already finding it difficult to concentrate. "Yes, John. Yes I will".

"Fuck", John retaliates just as crudely, and this time, forget patience, forget slow. He gets himself out of his underwear, grinds his teeth as he holds the phone to his ear and mouth and pulls on himself, roughly. "I can't wait. I can't wait to hold you still, have those gorgeous thighs on my shoulders, lift you up. Kiss you everywhere. Lick and touch every inch of your skin - learn it by heart".

Sherlock moans, and there's muffled noises in the background, like a body shifting on a soft surface - their bed. "Oh, John".

"I will know every inch of your body better than you know it yourself", John continues, as he stops his hand, takes a breath, because this is going to end far too soon. "I will kiss you - will you let me, Sherlock? Will you let my tongue, inside you? Like when I'm kissing that gorgeous mouth of yours - just, _deeper_. Like you've never allowed anyone else to do".

Sherlock sobs on the other end of the phone, takes a breath. John strokes himself, swipes his thumb gently but impatiently over the tip, pulls the foreskin down and imagines he's pushing into Sherlock. The warmth is not the same, not at all, the tightness only a laughable imitation of what he's used to - of what he's _lucky enough to have -_ but he has to make do. He grits his teeth once again, closes his eyes, grunts.  
On the other end of the phone, all he can hear is faint breaths, distant and muted; this won't do.

"Sherlock?", he demands, in another growl.

A weak sound.

"Hmm..?"

"Stay on the phone. Do you hear me? Keep that fucking gorgeous mouth on the phone. I want to hear you".

He's being crass and forceful but he doesn't care. He's pulling at himself in haste now, _god nearly there_ \- but he needs to hear Sherlock, and he wants Sherlock to hear him. He feels himself burn inside at this utter need, he feels like _fuck_ , _I'd jump on a train right now and get home at the speed of light just to fuck you and hold you and make sure you're looking into my eyes and crying out in my mouth when I make you come with just my cock and fingers and teeth against your throat._

"Ah. Yes, yes, John", Sherlock sobs, breathes haphazardly - writhing on their bed, John imagines, willing to do anything and everything for John right now, _fuck, yes_.

"Keep that mouth on the phone and moan for me", he orders. "I'm holding your thighs, I'm eating you out, I'm fucking you with my tongue. Come on, let me know how good it feels. _Scream for me."_

"John!", Sherlock screams. "John. Ah. John!"

"Come on, you stunning thing. Come on - a little bit more - a little more for me...."

He hears shifting, a few broken breaths, wet sobs like crying - Sherlock would cry, and he'd reach down and kiss those tears, make Sherlock open his eyes, look at the crystal and blue and wet eyelashes and _kiss it all away -_ and then Sherlock's voice, "Ahhhhh, John. Fuck - fuck. Ah, _fuck me_...."

That does it. John feels his abdomen tighten, muscles in his thighs harden in the effort to buck up, jerk madly against nothing, and he holds his hand on his cock and squeezes and imagines it's Sherlock's body, even though nothing and no one could ever feel as beautiful as him and _fuck I'm going to have him I'm going to have him as soon as I see him again fuck fuck fuck_ -

The comedown is messy, makes him dizzy. He lowers his hips to the mattress. Takes a few deep breaths, eyes still closed, frowning.  
When he moves his hand away he suddenly remembers he hasn't even taken his trousers off properly; he's a bloody forty-four year old horny teenager, is what he is.

"Sherlock?", he finds he has some breath back to ask.

"I'm here, John." Sherlock is breathless, too.

For a few moments they just listen to each other, inhaling and exhaling, together, long and deep, to calm down and get back to themselves. After that, John blinks, rubs at his own tired face.

"What you said earlier. About the wedding".

Sherlock gives a little, irritated grunt. "We can discuss when-"

"No. What I mean is - what you said about me. _Leaving you_ ".

There's a silence after that. John waits for a reaction, an mmmh, a chuckle - until he realises Sherlock's holding his breath. _Waiting_.

"I will never leave you", he hurries to clarify. "I won't, Sherlock. I need you to know this."

A breath.

"You left _her_."

John breathes back; wishes we wasn't a hundred miles away right now.

"I didn't love her. Not like I love you." Listens; silence on the other side. "Please. You need to know this".

There isn't much else he can add. He just waits, hopes that Sherlock can feel it, feel what he feels, for him, feel how much he wants him to be secure, safe, protected, and happy in what they have.

"I love you, John", Sherlock says.

John smiles.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Noon, at the latest", his voice warm, bursting. "I love you too".

 _So much_ , he thinks.

He listens to Sherlock sigh - and rings off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment if you enjoyed it/feel like it. :P Know that I'm blushing!!
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @IAmDorothyGale
> 
> xx


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